will they call this a renaissance

they who will define their present

by our past, will they haunt themselves

with our ghostly words weaved

in the intricate fabrics of confusion

we rift dweller—like rain caught between

heaven and earth looking for renewal

as hearts after lost and unrequited love

how do we fix time that has been broken

clocks unable to spring through its river

frustrated in war

with war

for war

dying to make peace

with some—thing

anything

searching for pieces of ourselves

in boxes of discarded nothings

will they call us a renaissance

we who see the world in waves

…not round

or flat

or a place

but a concept filled

with distortion

seeking revolutions

trying to evolve

into human 2.0

trying to revive

some—thing

like the dead

—ones

what will they

call

us…